


dont look at my fucking boner when we fight, bro

by vaenire



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, The Fate of the Furious (2017)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Breast Fucking, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Sex, Tiddy fuck, Tit-fucking, i dont know the customary tag, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaenire/pseuds/vaenire
Summary: for the prompt "tiddyfucking"





	dont look at my fucking boner when we fight, bro

Hobbs had to hand it to Shaw-- he was clever and resourceful, and more than made up for advantages that Hobbs might’ve had over him. He was quick, too. A slippery fucker if Hobbs ever knew one--

Hobbs slammed his hand open palmed against the side of Shaw’s head, jumping back out of the way of his swinging retaliation and giving him time to shake out his fists before immediately retaining a defensive stance. 

\--but without his knives and explosives and underhanded tricks, Hobbs and Shaw were a match.

It was their ritual now: posture, continuously one-up each other’s threats, fight, and if they riled each other up enough, fuck. The threats, particularly, were natural to them, even after working together for several months now. However, as their brawl went on, they fell silent, letting their panting fill the air instead. 

Shaw landed two kicks against Hobbs' ribs, sending him back a few steps. The key, Hobbs decided, was to get those legs pinned, prevent him from kicking his way out.

He ducked Shaw’s tight swing, lunging forward to wrap his arm hard and fast around Shaw’s middle and throw him to the ground. 

Instead of keeping his footing-- which would give Shaw the space he needed to somersault his way back to his feet, Hobbs followed him down and pinned Shaw’s thighs with his own, laying his full weight on them. 

Shaw squirmed, testing how much he could move his legs, before he tried throwing his weight upward to connect his head or arms with Hobbs' chest or chin, but Hobbs caught his arms too, and forced them back to the ground. With all of Hobbs' weight on him, the man looming above him, he was pinned. They both panted, staring each other down. Hobbs kept his eyes firmly trained on Shaw’s face, not acknowledging the bulge he could feel in Deckard’s pants. He seemed to have the same idea in mind. 

“Say uncle,” Hobbs said, a teasing edge to his voice. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Shaw spat, pulling at Hobbs' hold on his wrists. 

Hobbs put more force on his hands, sure to bruise. “Say it, boy.” 

Leaning so heavily forward was Hobbs' mistake. Shaw found the traction to bend his knees and kick off the ground, throwing Hobbs off and to the side, where Shaw quickly pinned him face down, straddling his waist and wrapping an arm around Hobbs' neck and pushing his arm down, just that side of uncomfortable but far enough that Hobbs got the message. 

“ _ You _ say it,  _ boy. _ ” 

He squeezed his arm around Hobbs' neck, and Hobbs grappled at any skin he could find. He could feel the fatigue in his muscles, that instinctual adrenaline kick in, the cool sweat dripping down his face and shoulders, warmth settling in his lower back where Shaw straddled him. 

“Uncle,” Hobbs rasped, clapping against Shaw’s arm. 

With a self satisfied laugh, Shaw sat back on his knees, pressing that sticky warmth down against Hobbs as his weight settled fully onto him.

“Bro,” Hobbs said, still catching his breath. Shaw had dirty tricks, but so did Hobbs-- and Shaw was nothing if  _ gentlemanly _ \-- or easily embarrassed. “Are you hard?” 

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Shaw was shifting his weight back: mistake. Hobbs braced his forearms on the ground and twisted his hips sharply, throwing Shaw off and onto his back, quickly followed by Hobbs slotting between his thighs and resting his hands on either side of Shaw’s head, too focused to worry about pulling down his tank top where it hitched up on his hips. 

Shaw’s eyes were wide, face red. It was cute.

“You like being thrown around, huh Princess?”

Hobbs was banking off Shaw’s shock or haze, but as always, it was unclear what would throw Shaw off balance enough to make him give in. Shaw’s boundaries were broad and unclear-- but Shaw always knew how to throw  _ Hobbs _ off, both physically and metaphorically. 

He clamped his thighs around Hobbs' waist, swinging his weight into it to roll them so that he was now straddling Hobbs, who was flat on his back. 

“Maybe  _ you’re _ the one who likes getting tossed about, eh,  _ darling _ ?” 

Hobbs' hands settled on Shaw’s thighs as Shaw reached behind himself to feel how hard Hobbs was, too. 

He could push back, push further and try to get back on top but in all honesty, Hobbs was fine right here. And he didn’t mind the way Shaw was shifting his hips against his rib cage. Shaw’s hand snuck under his sweat drenched tank top where it was hitched, pushing it up until it was rumpled under Hobbs' pits, his sweaty chest exposed to the cool air. Hobbs squeezed Shaw’s thighs, overwhelmed by the feeling of  _ too much clothing.  _

“So you do like it?” Shaw sneered, palming one of Hobbs' pecs as he fondled himself through his sweats. “Being tossed around?” 

This was usual, almost like reading a script-- so much so that Hobbs had to raise a brow at the fact that Deckard insisted on going through these motions  _ again _ . 

“What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” he said challengingly, even as his hands ran up and down Shaw’s thighs, reaching up to pinch his ass. Shaw’s groan bit off into a growl, and he leaned his weight off Hobbs for a moment to shove his sweats down and take himself in hand, stroking his half hard cock. 

With his other hand he cupped the side of Hobbs' pec and squeezed, pinching his nipple between his thumb and the side of his index finger’s knuckle. “Shit,” Shaw groaned, shuffling forward on his knees to straddle Hobbs' chest. 

“So that’s what it’s gonna be?” Hobbs asked, leering as he swept his hands up and down Shaw’s thighs enticingly. He settled his weight partially on Hobbs’ ribs, hot and grounding. 

“That’s what it’s gonna be,” Shaw said, grinning and planting both of his hands on Hobbs' pecs. He squeezed, teasing, and pressed them inward. 

Hobbs scowled, covering some level of embarrassment. 

“You know, Luke, you’re getting soft here.” Shaw smirked, kneading Hobbs' chest. “Help me out, here,” he said, voice lowering when Hobbs cupped his ass and squeezed him in similar fashion. 

Hobbs ran his hands up to grip Shaw’s hips, bringing his elbows in against his sides so the small amount of fat on his chest would press in closer and create a more defined cleavage. He thumb circled Shaw’s hip bones, calluses rubbing nicely as Shaw thrust slowly against his chest. Shaw braced one hand on the ground beside Hobbs’ head, the other hand on his dick to press more firmly against his sweat slick chest. 

Hobbs could see the appeal of rubbing off on someone’s chest in theory, but in practice he couldn’t quite imagine it working all that well. He had a… supple chest, maybe, but there wasn’t enough to really  _ fuck _ . 

Despite this, Deckard obviously satisfied-- or soon would be. His precum was slicking Hobbs’ chest, his thrusts uneven as he could only brace with one hand. His cock was hot and heavy as he ground it down against Hobbs’ sternum. 

Luke squeezed his ass hard enough to make him jump before laying one of his hands over his chest. Deckard got the idea, moving the hand on his dick to brace on the floor on the other side of Luke’s head as Luke pressed the heel of his hand down on his shaft to keep him aligned with the crevice of his pecs. 

Luke could feel Deckard’s thighs tensing on either side of his chest, could see the way his abdomen muscles coiled tight. 

His hips moved fluidly, and Luke curled his hand over his dick to create more friction for him as he watched Deckard’s face intently. Deckard’s eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed and one cheek crinkling in a grimace. Luke massaged the handful of ass as he teased Deck’s dick with his thumb and savoring the surprised groans he earned. 

Deckard rolled his hips in tighter circles, faster, and Luke can see his jaw clench; he knew what that meant. 

“F-fuck,” Deckard grunted before arching forward, one hand falling to brace on his elbow over Luke. He came hard, his thighs jerking tight on either side of Luke’s chest. His come spurted over Luke’s collarbone and his neck, a bit landing on his chin. 

Luke wrapped his hand around him, feeling him twitch with overstimulation as Luke stroked him. He swatted Luke’s hand away before patting Luke’s chin, smearing the cum there into his stubble. Deckard gave him a breathless grin, abdomen still twitching from aftershocks. Luke frowned, mirthless. 

His unamused look received a chuckle, and Deckard bent down to kiss his cheek. 

“You owe me one,” Luke grumbled, rubbing the fluid on his hand into Deckard’s thigh. 

“Hah, you’ve got to  _ earn _ that,” Deckard snorted, still catching his breath, “ _ Princess _ .” 

Luke shoved at Deckard’s stomach and pushed him off, shucking off his soiled tank top to wipe off the rest the mess on his chest and neck before throwing it to the side and rolling over onto Deckard. 

“Is that a challenge?” he said, breath against Deckard’s neck and hands sliding into Deckard’s sweats and pushing them further down. 

Deckard laughed and lifted his hips for him. 


End file.
